


Fine Print

by noodlecatposts



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, F/M, Nesta POV, Smut, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 41
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

Nesta finds Cassian right where she expected to find him—hunched over at the dining room table, working his ass off in the middle of the night.

It’s far past usual business hours, but Cassian didn’t climb to the top of the corporate ladder by working the 9 to 5. Nesta knows how he poured all of his efforts— his blood, sweat, and tears— into his work; he wanted to prove himself worthy over others, show he could be better than the expectations. And so, he did.

Cassian’s mother would be proud of him, Nesta thinks to herself. She doesn’t dare say the words aloud, would never dare to offer him that little bit of encouragement without provocation. That isn’t what this is; that isn’t what Cassian expects from this, isn’t what he asked for.

He barely acknowledges that she’s there, but Nesta takes a moment to examine him, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the furrow in his brow. Something must have gone really wrong at work for him to cancel their dinner plans this week, only to request she come over to his apartment anyway, way later than normal.

Cassian’s shirt is half done, tie hanging around his neck like a scarf. Nesta knows that he has a tendency to get home from work and dive right back in, falling into the nearest seat and sticking his nose in his laptop.

She thinks he looks good anyway.

Brown eyes dart up from the computer screen. Nesta realizes the words must have escaped her lips, slipped right out without her knowing. She locks her jaw and avoids blushing purely out of the sheer will not to.

Cassian smirks at her but says nothing. His eyes slide down the curves of her body so slowly, dragging back up even slower, torturing her with his attention—torturing her with the lack of attention.

“Gods,” he breathes. “You look great, baby. What are you all dressed up for?”

His honeyed tone melts her bones. Nesta doesn’t know how she manages to stay upright. It’s been days since she saw him last; she didn’t realize until now that she missed him.

“Someone was supposed to take me to dinner,” her voice is cold, maybe even a little bratty. Cassian’s eyes flare with heat, tracking Nesta’s hips as she pops one to the side, resting a hand on it. “They stood me up.”

His pen clacks against the glass top of the table, and Cassian rubs his eyes, a flash of guilt hidden within their depths. For a second, Nesta worries that maybe she’s pushed too far, but when he sends her a smile, all of those concerns wash away.

“Come here.” An order, not a request.

Nesta shrugs, tossing her keys and purse onto the kitchen island. It took her a little while to figure out just what Cassian liked, the kind of game he was into; he’s never done this before. It’s all so new to him.

She pouts. He likes an attitude, enjoys the challenge of trying to reign it in. Cassian has yet to realize that Nesta isn’t a girl that can be tamed.

“Sure, you aren’t too busy for me?”

“Nesta,” his voice is a warning. “Come sit in my lap.”

She weighs her options. Nesta could disobey, test the limits of Cassian’s patience, and see just what happens when she pushes him too far. She wonders if he’s into punishment or if he’s the type to just ignore her when she pisses him off. That would be disappointing.

Or, Nesta could behave, do as she’s asked, and get to touch him already. She hasn’t seen Cassian in a week; the choice is easy.

“There’s my girl.” His voice is nothing more than a coo, smiling at her as Nesta slinks across the penthouse apartment. Cassian locks one arm around her waist as she slides into his lap, sitting sideways. His other hand falls to her thigh, holding on to keep her from falling.

Nesta drapes an arm across his shoulders, making herself comfortable. She soaks in his warmth, savors the smell of his cologne, listens to him breathe. 

She takes a peek at his work, understanding very little of it. Nesta never got to go to school for that business degree that she thought she needed, nor the Literature degree she thought would make her happy. Instead, this is her life, dressing pretty and making people happy.

Cassian wastes no time. He sweeps the stray pieces of her hair to the side and kisses her neck. The feeling has Nesta melting into him; she arches her body into his with a sigh, shivering at the feel of Cassian’s scruff scratching against the sensitive skin of her neck.

He chuckles, his breath tickling her. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” Nesta hums, dropping her head to the side to make more room for Cassian. Another laugh. Then his tongue darts across her skin, and she moans.

Cassian’s hand slides up her thigh, fingers dipping under the hem of Nesta’s skirt to make her gasp. She likes the feeling of his calloused fingers against her skin, wants to feel more of his warm body pressed against hers. They’ve both got too many clothes on.

Her feet drop to the ground as Cassian turns her around, heels clicking against the floor. Cassian’s breath warms her ear, and then he kisses the ticklish bit of skin behind it. Nesta lets out a sigh of arousal. She wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, sweetheart,” Cassian apologizes, voice low and rough as he drags his hands up the front of her body, squeezing her curves. Nesta’s sitting forward in his lap now, her back pressed into his front. A hand slides up to her throat, cupping her face and turning it towards Cassian’s face.

He gives her a teasing kiss, barely pressing his lips to hers. Nesta only gets the briefest taste of his tongue before he pulls away, running his lips along her jawline and making her dizzy. The feeling of his hands on her breasts turns off all rational thought in Nesta’s mind.

Everything is just—Cassian.

The feeling of his lips on her throat, of Cassian’s teeth sinking into the crook of her neck. His fingers are tangled in her hair, but they’re also walking along her inner thigh. Going higher. Higher. 

Nesta thinks she says his name, but it’s more a moan than anything else. She can feel Cassian’s laughter as it rumbles through his chest and into her back. Nesta grinds back against the hardness pressing against her ass, and Cassian moans, fingers dancing against the lace panties she wears just for him.

Still, Cassian won’t give her what she wants. Nesta whimpers. He waits.

Teeth scrape the outer shell of her ear. Cassian’s voice sounds as wrecked as she feels when he speaks, “Tell me what you want, Nesta.”

Her skin is just too hot for thinking straight. Instead, Nesta rocks her hips back against his, a clear indication of what she’s looking for. Cassian’s fingers dig into her scalp, the pressure just shy of painful, as he moans.

“Nesta.” The firm, demanding voice has returned. It’s urgent—stubborn.

It’s something that Cassian won’t budge on—her consent. He even had it put into the contract, written in fine print right alongside the NDA and her responsibilities, the expectations. Cassian wanted someone around for the company, wanted the comfort and pleasure of a relationship without the maintenance. 

Yet, he also didn’t want a woman that felt powerless, that felt like she had to give him whatever he wanted, come to his every beck and call. 

Because Cassian was paying her. Because Nesta was his sugar baby.

The sex isn’t required; Nesta never has to sleep with Cassian. She wants to.

“Please,” Nesta manages to gasp, but she knows that isn’t enough. “ _Please_ give me your fingers.”

A groan. Cassian turns her face with her hair so that he can kiss her better. Nesta nips his lips, scratches her nails into his shoulder. It’s messy and hot and urgent.

“ _Oh_ ,” Nesta moans when his fingers slip past her underwear. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs into her skin, kissing down her throat and along her shoulder. Nesta isn’t sure when he unzipped her dress to expose more skin, but she’s very thankful for it now. “I’ve got you.”

Nesta rocks down onto his fingers, gasping at the feeling; each push of her hips grinds against the bulge in Cassian’s pants. It leaves them both panting, moaning, and groaning. Desperate for more and more.

His thumb against her clit is the perfect surprise; Nesta shatters, her walls contracting around Cassian’s fingers as she comes. Cassian swears into the back of her neck. 

Nesta mumbles something incoherent; she can feel his smile against her neck.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You look so good in my lap,” he praises her. Nesta never knew herself to be into bedroom praise, but here she is, melting with every _good girl_ and _sweetheart_.

What is there for Nesta to say to defend herself? The sex is _that_ good.

“Get up for me, baby,” Cassian tells her, lifting her off his lap by the hips. Nesta complies, but her legs are unsteady. Her knees wobble as she seeks to find her balance, trying to remove her underwear without falling on her ass.

Cassian’s belt buckle jingles as he removes it. Nesta finds herself slow to react; she turns to help him remove his pants, but Cassian stops her, turning her body back around to the position she was in before. It seems to be how he wants her right now.

A breathy laugh escapes Nesta as Cassian guides her backward. The skirt of her dress rests around her hips, and Cassian’s pants only made it as far as his knees, but it’s enough. Cassian’s grip is firm, supporting Nesta as she sits down onto his cock.

There are rules, of course: no condoms, no other men, keep up with birth control. Nesta got an IUD because she’s shit at remembering the pill.

They both groan at the feeling, stilling at the intensity. Everything between Cassian and Nesta is electric, has been since that first meeting a few months back. They got into a fight of all things during the interview. 

Cassian asked Nesta what a girl like her was doing courting old men for money; Nesta wanted to know what was wrong with Cassian that he couldn’t get a girlfriend.

The argument nearly came to blows, probably would have if Cassian were the type of man to do such a wretched thing. Nesta stormed out of the conference room before she slapped him, swearing any number of profanities and promising she’d never stand in the same room with him again.

Cassian called the next day, offered her double what she asked for—but with one more condition. Nesta had to promise to never back down, to always rise to the challenge with him, to fight him when he was an ass. Cassian didn’t want a pet; he wanted a woman.

“Nes,” Cassian pants, snapping his hips up and into her. Nesta gasps each and every time. “Where’d you go, sweetheart?”

“Nowhere,” her voice is breathy, betraying her. “I’m here.”

“Talk to me, baby,” Cassian commands, pulling the bodice of her dress down to reach for her boobs. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Uh,” Nesta sucks in air. “Good—you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” A grunt of his own.

Nesta nods frantically. She reaches behind her to grab his hair, digs the nails of her other hand into his thigh. Nesta can feel each of his moans before she hears them, can feel his breath against her neck as he gasps for air. It’s nice knowing that she isn’t the only one undone by this.

“Fuck!” Her vision nearly goes out when Cassian finds her g-spot, each press of his body into hers an explosion of color; fireworks dance behind her eyes. “ _There_ , baby. Right there.”

Cassian groans. She rarely calls him baby, seldom calls him by anything other than his name and idiot. Maybe, she’ll need to evaluate her tactics if it makes his cock twitch like that.

Nesta bites her lip hard enough to make it bleed; Cassian notices, nipping at her jawline and growling. “Let it out, Nesta. Let me hear you.”

“Oh!” Another snap of Cassian’s hips, right where she needs it. “ _Shit._ ”

“Louder.” An order. She moans. “Louder, Nesta.”

She cries out. It sounds like his name.

“That’s a good girl.” _Oh._

“You feel so good, baby.” _Ah!_

“Are you gonna come for me, Nes?” _Yes._

It’s his cock inside her, his teeth in her shoulder, his hand between her legs that makes her break. Nesta’s orgasm shakes her to her core; her hearing goes out, and her vision blurs. Cassian doesn’t let her go, keeping himself sheathed inside her with a white-knuckled grip. Nonsense bubbles out of him as he comes inside of her.

Then it’s silent.

Her throat is raw, so she must have screamed. Cassian’s breathing is ragged, his face pressed into her back as his hips move lazily, a shadow of before. Nesta’s bones have gone soft; her muscles are tired. Neither of them moves as they catch their breath.

“Will you stay the night with me, baby?” Cassian asks, peppering kisses down her back as Nesta comes down.

She hums at the touch; Nesta can feel Cassian’s smile from behind her. If he were to let go of her right now, she thinks she’d fall to the floor. 

He chuckles. “Is that a yes?”

Nesta mutters something that’s supposed to be a yes. Cassian brushes the hair from her face, and she burrows into his neck. When Cassian starts to pry them apart, she whines a protest, making him chuckle.

There’s a lot of stigma around being a sugar baby. Nesta’s been called a gold digger; she’s been referred to as a prostitute. Men have implied that they’d take what they wanted from her because “she just gives it away.”

It’s more than that, though. More than creepy men on the internet preying after desperate women, girls—though, that does exist. It is a problem. 

It isn’t always, though. Nesta finds that it often just boils down to companionship. Most of the men Nesta has worked for just wanted the company or to have a beautiful woman on their arms during the parties. A lot of them just wanted a dinner companion twice a week.

For Nesta, it was about paying the bills and living the lifestyle she liked.

Oh, so rarely did Nesta ever sleep with them.


	2. Chapter 2

Cassian often invites Nesta over to “hang.”

Nesta thought it was code for sex the first time he asked. After all, it sounded like something those frat boys from the club would say to her, back when she tended bar and showed off her tits for the extra tips. Young boys with earnest smiles would invite her back to their crappy apartments to “hang.” It always ended with her naked in someone’s bed—the level of satisfaction varied.

But the first time she agreed to Cassian’s invitation, Nesta found herself curled up on his couch for an evening. Cassian draped her legs across his lap— watching some ridiculous game of sport that Nesta couldn’t bother to identify— and Nesta read a book. It was… pleasant, if misguidedly domestic.

 **Let’s hang.** The text lights up her phone on a gray Sunday morning. Nesta checks it, identifies the number, and then abandons the phone in favor of a few more minutes of sleep. She’s not required to see Cassian whenever he beckons; the contract only commits her to a specific set of days per week. And Sunday isn’t one of them. Those are Cassian’s _Family Days_.

 **Come keep me company**. She wakes up to another text from the man. An honest and straightforward plea that makes Nesta reconsider her refusal to respond. **Please? Dinner was canceled. I’m lonely.**

She reminds herself that this is a man that she wants to keep happy. It would both wound her income and her pride if Cassian ever grew tired of her and move onto someone else. With that in mind, Nesta reluctantly leaves her bed to get ready. As always, she plays the part, does her makeup, and tames her hair, but she dresses for the lazy morning she’d planned to have. An oversized sweater and a pair of leggings. It’s not how Nesta usually looks when arriving at Cassian’s home, but she thinks she can get away with it for the day.

 **I’ll be there soon.** And she calls a cab.

When Nesta arrives, she finds Cassian sprawled across his oversized couch, watching a popular sitcom and chuckling at the bad jokes. She uses his distraction to take a moment to drink in the sit of him, hair poorly half-pulled up and miles of that brown skin she likes so much on display. There’s a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. Nesta figured out early on that Cassian had no qualms with nudity; so, she knew the pants were for her benefit.

“Hey,” he says. His hazel eyes are a bright contrast with the gloomy weather outside. Cassian stands up to get to her, closing the distance between them and pulling her into a hug. “You look good, Nes. I like you like this, all dressed down.”

It makes her feel shy, but Nesta powers through the feeling, refusing to let it win and show itself to the man watching her with his eagle sharp eyes. “You’ve got pants on; I’m proud.”

A roguish grin spreads across Cassian’s face. He leans down, bringing their faces close together. Nesta arches her back, leaning away to maintain eye contact; Cassian’s face lights up with a challenge.

“I could always take them off,” he says lowly. “Would that make you happy?”

“Why aren’t you working?” Nesta deflects, ignoring the spike in her pulse. She’s learned him well enough to know his patterns. If his usual plans were canceled, then Cassian would typically just distract himself with work, but here he was, looking to her for entertainment.

“My brother made me leave my computer at work.” The man scowls. “Then he revoked my access to the network, saying I could have it reinstated Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” Nesta asks, curious.

Cassian looks downright petulant now. “I’m supposed to be on _vacation_. It’s bullshit; I have work to do.”

For some reason, that makes Nesta laugh. The noise escaping her suddenly and surprising Cassian with its arrival. He looks torn between a pleased smile and a frown. “Why is that funny?”

“Your brother _fired_ you for the weekend.” Nesta smiles when Cassian’s face drops into surprise, his mouth forming an _O_. Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Someone is addicted to their work.”

“Shit,” Cassian breathes. “He totally did. What a bastard.” Her last sentence catches up with him, and he frowns indignantly at Nesta, resting his hands on his hips. It only emphasizes how low those pants rest on him, the strength in those arms of his.

Nesta drags her eyes away from him, trying to avoid staring at the cut of his body, left on display for her. Cassian looks really good right now, and it’s kind of confusing her. She _works_ for the guy after all; Nesta isn’t supposed to drool all over him. She guesses it’s a good thing, though, that she’s attracted to him. Otherwise, it’d be wildly fucked up that she was sleeping with Cassian while he paid her to be his mock-girlfriend.

“What’s the plan?” she asks and meets his gaze. Cassian is smiling at her as if he’s just managed to read her thoughts; Nesta juts out her chin and sets her mouth into a stubborn line. It only makes his smile grow.

“Breakfast,” Cassian announces, turning and heading towards the kitchen. Nesta’s heart falls in disappointment. “And then I’ll try to convince you to snuggle with me on the couch and watch shitty tv.”

Nesta recovers quickly, rolling her eyes, but she shadows him towards the kitchen’s dark decor. Cassian’s whole penthouse follows such a color scheme; dark greys and blacks blend together to create the masculine aesthetic that many of Nesta’s clients like.

She claims a grey leather seat as her own and gazes outside at the drab weather. The exterior walls of Cassian’s home are glass, from floor to ceiling, creating a brilliant view of the city bustling beneath them. Today, however, the city sleeps; the residents of Velaris having retreated to their apartments, away from the threatening storm.

“You should know that once it rains,” Nesta says wryly, “I’m going to fall asleep on you.” Cassian huffs a laugh, smiling softly in her direction as if to say that sounds like a lovely plan. “I don’t know exactly how much company I’m going to be.”

Cassian wasted little time getting to work. There’s an assortment of ingredients spread across the dark marble countertops, and Nesta watches as he cracks eggs into a bowl with one hand, telling her, “Sometimes it’s just nice to not be in this big house all alone.”

Nesta doesn’t have anything smart to say to that. They share a knowing look, ignoring the elephant in the room. Cassian is mostly alone in this successful life of his. Nesta doesn’t know the whole picture, but she’s managed to pick up a few details here and there.

Cassian worked alongside his family, doing what exactly still evaded Nesta. The family used to be closer, she thinks, having heard Cassian imply as much during their conversations over their dinner dates. Nesta didn’t know the cause for their falling out, but she suspected it had something to do with the high-profile, high-stress lives they lived.

Family time was relegated to Sunday Family Dinner—when it wasn’t canceled such as today.

Other than that, Cassian had plans with Nesta three nights a week. The math said that the man was only ever alone for a grand total of three nights per week. Nesta wanted to assume that he used that time to sleep, but she suspected that Cassian used the alone time to get more work done, using it to run away from more significant and heavier problems.

“Earth to Nesta,” Cassian calls, sliding a plate her way.

Nesta blinks at the food, snapping out of her thoughts. Cassian flops into the seat next to her precariously; it’s a wonder the fool doesn’t ever fall on his ass, throwing himself around like that. She looks his way and finds Cassian already grinning at her. He aims a fork in her direction.

“You’re thinking way too hard with an empty stomach,” he declares, stabbing at a bit of scrambled egg on her plate and stealing it for himself. “At least eat something before you go all philosopher on me, Nes.”

She frowns at him. “I can’t if you eat all of my food first.”

“Better hurry up then.” Cassian grins cheekily, ignoring his own plate in favor of hers. He steals another bite of her eggs, and Nesta narrows her eyes at him. She snatches a slice of bacon from his plate, eating it before Cassian can protest. The man bursts into laughter, and then he steals another bite of egg.

*

They settle into the living room. Cassian resumes the show he’s watching, and Nesta pulls her current book out of her purse and curls into a corner of the couch. Cassian says nothing as he reaches for her, resting a hand on the ankle of her leg outstretched between them.

His fingers are warm and calloused, a comfortable weight on her skin. Nesta relaxes with more ease than is usual for her with clients, but she’s always connected better with Cassian than with his peers.

It’s obvious why. Cassian is the kind of guy who makes anyone feel at home. His camaraderie is infectious in a way that Nesta would usually hate, preferring to stay out the outskirts of social situations and to watch from afar. Nesta would bet her years’ salary that _everyone_ liked Cassian.

It certainly helped matters that he’s on the younger side. He’s a handful of years older than Nesta, but Cassian is at least a decade younger than anyone Nesta’s ever had a contract or meeting with.

“Is it weird that you’re kind of turning me on right now?” Cassian says and ruins the peaceful moment. He eyes her closely. “I think it’s the sweater.”

“Cassian,” Nesta says with fervent exasperation, eyes glued to her book. “It would be if it weren’t perfectly on par for you.”

“Nes, did you just call me weird?” he exclaims, body trembling with laughter. “You’re reading for fun. It’s _Sunday._ ”

Nesta sighs in response, flipping the page and continuing to read. She can still feel Cassian’s eyes burning through her skin as he watches her.

“You look so soft and fuckable,” he insists, sending a bolt of arousal shooting through Nesta’s body. His hand squeezes her ankle, urging her forward, saying, “Come sit on my face.”

Somehow, she manages to keep a straight face and replies, “I’d rather blow a chainsaw.”

Laughter fills the room; even Nesta’s lips twitch with the desire to smile in response. Cassian doesn’t push the matter further, but Nesta also doesn’t miss how he adjusts himself in his pants, trying to make himself comfortable. It’s clear her client is feeling a little hot and bothered this afternoon. Nesta will have to buy more sweaters if this was the reaction she was going to get.

They stay like that for a few hours, Cassian watching television and Nesta reading. Occasionally, Cassian will break into fits of laughter, jostling Nesta out of her fantasy world and back into reality. She finds herself sneaking a few peeks at Cassian during those times, admiring the way his face lights up with humor and the way his eyes crinkle when he snickers.

Not that any of this time here on this couch was real, Nesta reminds herself firmly. The reality of the situation was bleaker; Cassian would pay Nesta for this time with her. Hell, he’d give her a little bonus on her next allowance for this extra day—a weekend day no less.

They weren’t two people enjoying each other’s company, and they definitely weren’t some couple curled up for a long weekend.

And yet, when Cassian stands from the couch, Nesta takes his offered hand. She doesn’t fight him when he tugs her to her feet, and she follows him willingly to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: “You’re kind of turning me on.” & “I’d rather blow a chainsaw.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tuesday appears without warning.

Cassian returns to work, and Nesta returns to… whatever it is she feels like doing. Tomorrow, she’ll be back at dinner with Cassian, listening to him as he complained about his family, but for tonight, she’s on her own. She’ll have to entertain herself.

She quickly grows bored, unwilling to clean, and incapable of focusing on anything in her apartment. Nesta finds herself checking her phone periodically, hoping that someone—that _Cassian_ — will text her and save her from herself. It takes a while, but Nesta’s in luck. A friend is to the rescue.

Friends. Nesta doesn’t really have very many friends. Any friends. She’s always found it challenging to maintain relationships with anyone. Family. Friends. Casual acquaintances. The issue is simple. People are supposed to share things, information, with friends or family or acquaintances, but that isn’t plausible for Nesta, not in her line of work.

It leaves those in her orbit feeling isolated. Nesta can’t exactly share the details of her work, tell anyone about her clients, nor is she able to explain how she affords her life without a job. Her usual answer to people is that she is “self-employed” or a “freelancer.” Eventually, someone asks, “but for what?”

“Are you still seeing that guy of yours?” Clare asks offhandedly. Nesta’s watched her roll the olive in the bottom of her martini glass around for the better part of the last half hour. The gin has been gone longer than that.

“The one with that fancy penthouse?” Clare continues. “And the family?”

Clare Beddor is different. Nesta would classify her somewhere between friend and casual acquaintance. She’s definitely not family, thanks to the Mother, but Clare is the one who got Nesta into this whole mess in the first place. So, there’s that.

They met back in the days when Nesta still worked at that shitty old bar with the low cut shirts. Clare, beautiful and happy, stumbled into that bar for some reason or another, and Nesta struck up a conversation with her as bartenders do. It changed Nesta’s life when Clare mentioned a meeting with a potential _client_ and suggested that Nesta tag along.

First, Nesta hissed at Clare that she wasn’t interested in being a prostitute. Clare Beddor laughed and told her the address. Nesta still wasn’t sure why she went. But she did.

“Yes,” Nesta tells her, dragging a finger down the side of her wine glass and drawing a line through the condensation. The two women often share vague details, but Clare understands. She speaks the code. “He’s… fine.”

Better than fine, Nesta tells herself. She enjoyed herself more than she cared to admit Sunday, laying around Cassian’s home and taking turns getting one another off. Cassian is the kind of guy that would happily spend the day with his face nestled between a woman’s legs if you let him, and Nesta didn’t mind letting him. Not a bit.

Though, returning the favor was pretty great, too.

Nesta wonders if sleeping with Cassian made her better or worse than a prostitute. She already got paid to _spend time_ with Cassian, and she spent _a lot_ of that time having sex with him. Was there a difference?

Clare looks thoughtful. “Shouldn’t you be with him tonight?”

“No,” Nesta tries not to look exhausted by Clare’s questions. She came out for a drink and a little bit of company. She wasn’t counting on her company having so much to say. “He was off the last couple of days, and I hung around. He’s back to the grindstone today.”

“He seems pretty easy going,” Clare observes, and Nesta thinks about the man she watched lounge around his apartment yesterday, complaining about boredom and his family. She resists a smile.

Clare doesn’t notice. “You got lucky with that one.”

Nesta nods her agreement. She’s definitely had worse. “How’re things for you?”

“Going well,” Clare chirps. “This new guy is pretty big on showing off. He flew us to dinner the other night because he _felt_ like it. My old clients are the same, lonely or bored and looking for a fix.”

The bartender slides by, offering another round of drinks. Clare asks for her check, but Nesta asks for a refill. She’s not ready to go home to her modest one-bedroom apartment for the evening. For better or worse, she enjoyed having company for the last two days—almost as much as Cassian.

“Say,” Clare begins in a tone that possesses Nesta to raise her guard. “Are you still seeing that one marketing guy?”

Nesta stills at the mention of Tomas. It’s been a long time since the woman thought of that particular asshole; Nesta prays that her uneasiness doesn’t show on her face. Clare doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss; it’s a relief.

“Nope,” she says. That’s all Nesta offers.

“I was just curious,” Clare defends. “I saw that he was looking again… and I wanted to make sure that you were aware—if he was making plans to end your contract.”

“I ended that one a while back,” Nesta says. Her voice is a little sharp; Clare seems to notice this time. “It… wasn’t a good fit.”

“Oh,” her companion says, knowing well the dangers of their business. “Okay, then.”

They say their goodbyes. It’s clear that Nesta has made Clare a little uncomfortable with her attitude about Tomas; she has a feeling it might be a little while until they have another drinking night. Nesta thinks that she’s okay with that. The wine at this stupid bar is incredibly overpriced. But it’s in the safest part of town.

The bartender brings her a second glass of wine, and Nesta settles into her seat, pulling out her book to ready. She’s careful not to let the text touch the sticky surface of the bar; Nesta would never want to damage her precious book. It’d infuriate her.

As she reads, someone claims Clare’s abandoned seat. Nesta ignores them in favor of disappearing into the world of her novel. People sit beside strangers all of the time at bars. It’s not like there are a lot of seating options. Still, Nesta isn’t required to talk to them.

The stranger doesn’t share her sentiments. “You can’t possibly be reading right now. Here?”

It takes Nesta a few seconds to realize that her neighbor is speaking to her. At first, she waits for whoever he’s addressed to respond, to tell this guy to mind his own damn business, but the object of his attention doesn’t speak. And then she realizes—the man is talking to _her._

Stubbornly, she waits for a few more heartbeats, praying he’ll give up. Yet, his eyes remain glued on her face, and when Nesta looks up, he’s smiling. The man is… attractive, honestly with sparkling blue eyes and a genuine, sly smile. It surprises her, really.

“I’m sorry?” Nesta asks, not for the sake of being rude, but because she genuinely hadn’t been listening.

The man looks at her as if she’s said the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and oddly, it doesn’t irritate Nesta as she’d suspected. She juts out her chin in defiance, not one to be mocked by anyone, much less a stranger. He doesn’t falter. Impressive.

“You’re reading. In a bar,” he points out, obviously. “On a _Tuesday_.”

“What else should I be doing?” Nesta challenges him.

The man’s smile grows. “Letting me buy you a drink for one,” he says, cutting straight to the point. She narrows her eyes, and the man backs down quickly. “Or, at least, let me _offer_ to buy you a drink—with no ulterior motive. Promise.” A pause for approval. Nesta remains statuesque. “Is that better?”

She relents if only because her book now seems boring. “Sure.”

There’s a pause in conversation as they watch each other. The man keeps smiling, refusing to falter under Nesta’s scrutiny. The bartender delivers the man’s whiskey—straight, no-frills. Nesta approves.

“Dorian,” he says. Dorian doesn’t offer her his hand.

Nesta reaches for her wine, says, “Nesta.”

*

They talk about nothing and everything. No one is more surprised than Nesta when she finds herself enjoying the company of this charismatic and shameless man. He’s married, based upon the platinum wedding band on his finger, and very much in love when Nesta asks about it.

She lets him buy her a drink with no ulterior motives.

Dorian’s goal for the evening seems to be to get her to smile. Nesta doesn’t mind. And he’s actually successful—just once. And only because Nesta is reminded of Cassian, and that idiot can always get her to laugh.

Dorian’s smile turns a little strained as the evening progresses. Nesta grows nervous about the cause of the tightness around his eyes and the shadow in those twinkling eyes. Is he upset because he finds her boring? Or because he’s in trouble for his harmless flirting? Dorian seems like the kind of guy that flirts with _everyone._

He looks over her shoulder for a few moments, and then Dorian meets her gaze, somber. Nesta beats him to the punchline. “Your wife is here. And she’s mad.”

“Nah,” Dorian says, forcing the ghost of that dazzling smile of his back on his face. “Though if she were, she’d totally try to steal you from me,” he adds, his smiling growing stronger.

Nesta raises an eyebrow, surprised by his honesty.

Dorian’s face falls again, eyes looking distant. “But if you have a husband, I think he’s currently planning my murder.” He thinks over his next words, eyes dropping to her naked fingers. Nesta doesn’t wear rings.

“And if you don’t have a husband or boyfriend or what have you—say the word, and I can have my terrifying wife take care of the matter.” His smile is wry. “She’s way better at throwing punches then me.”

Her eyes must convey the question. Dorian’s eyes flick over her shoulder again, and then back to her face. He sighs. “Nesta, do you know that very angry-looking man by the pool table?”

Nesta is terrified for a moment, afraid to look over her shoulder and find out the answer. She holds Dorian’s worried gaze for a beat, and then Nesta grits her teeth and looks towards the pool tables. She just manages to stifle her surprised gasp.

Cassian leans against one of the pool tables, a stick in his hands. His hazel eyes burn through her when their eyes meet, and Nesta wonders how she didn’t feel him watching her earlier.

She was too busy chatting with Dorian, Nesta realizes. She’d forgotten about her book, choosing to share a drink with a stranger and talk about their day. It’s not a hard thing for Nesta to do, really. She’s practiced in the art of idle conversation because of what she does for a living. But Dorian was actually funny. And Nesta was enjoying herself.

And Cassian found them. Nestled together at the bar, talking and smiling.

He was jealous.

“For the record, my wife is outside,” Dorian says meaningfully. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can go. I’ll walk you out.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she tells him softly, still staring at her jealous client. “He’s harmless.”

Dorian scoffs at that. “Have you seen that man’s arms?” he whispers at her. “He could pop my head right off my shoulders if he wanted to.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, rising from the table and tossing her bag over her shoulder. She offers Dorian a handshake and tells him, “Thanks. It’s been a pleasure.”

The comedian clutches his heart, grimacing in pain. “Oh, not the handshake. I thought I was doing so well.”

Despite her best efforts, Nesta sends him a smile. That seems to please Dorian to no end, and he accepts her offered hand with a smile of his own. The woman says, “You weren’t horrible. Better luck next time.”

Dorian barks a laugh as she retreats. Nesta doesn’t spare a look over her shoulder for her unexpected friend. Likely, she’ll never see the man again, which she finds oddly saddening. Nesta thinks sometimes it wouldn’t be so terrible to have a friend.

Cassian watches her with an unreadable expression. His hands are in his pockets, but Nesta doesn’t need to see them to know that they’re clenched, an outlet for his frustrations. She stops a matter of steps away from him, waiting for her client to say something to her.

His hazel eyes drink in the lines of her body, but they linger longest on her face. Nesta is sure he can see the rosiness in her face from the wine; though, it doesn’t make sense to her why he would care. Cassian is the last person to judge someone for indulging in a couple of drinks.

“What brings you out this evening?” Nesta says at last when it becomes clear that Cassian doesn’t intend to break the silence.

Cassian’s jaw flexes as he works through his emotions. Nesta waits impatiently, but she also refuses to feel guilty for this. Nesta is allowed to have her own life. Cassian may pay her an allowance to keep her around, but he doesn’t _own_ her.

“Do you often… work for married men,” Cassian asks coldly without looking her in the eye.

“Yes.” Nesta grits her teeth, refusing to feel bad about her answer. It’s none of Cassian’s business who she does and doesn’t work for. “But I don’t work for Dorian. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

Hazel eyes light up with anger. “Not my concern?”

“Nope,” she says, adjusting the strap of her bag where it digs into her shoulder. “Tonight is Tuesday.”

A scoff. “Our deal is no other men.”

It’s not a gentle reminder, and it aggravates Nesta more than she anticipates. She enjoys spending time with Cassian, and for all intents and purposes, he is the only man she’s really spending time with these days. Nesta ended her contracts with the other men… to make more time for Cassian.

“I’m not to sleep with other men,” Nesta agrees. His fiery eyes meet hers, at last, upset at the correction. “But you don’t get to dictate how I spend my free time.”

“You’re _mine_ ,” he growls, surprising Nesta with his quiet fury. Cassian's always been more of a yeller when upset. She raises her shoulders and meets the man head-on; Nesta doesn't like this new possessiveness. She's learned well how it ends.

It's her stubbornness that makes her tell him, "Yes. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."

The anger in his eyes flares and Cassian steps towards her, closing the distance between them. His scent washes over Nesta, confusing her brain and making her forget her irritation. It doesn't help that his jealousy is actually kind of hot as hell.

“And,” Cassian continues, pretending to ignore her comment. They both know he heard her. He pinches her chin between two fingers and lifts her face up to his. Nesta locks her jaw in defiance, narrowing her eyes at him. “I. Don’t. Share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: You are mine. & I don’t share.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Excuse me_?” 

Nesta hisses the words, beyond furious with the man standing in front of her. Nesta’s never been particularly driven towards violence, but she’s considering making an exception, at least just this once.

Cassian locks his jaw, stubbornly refusing to back down. He towers over her, invasive of her personal space, possession shining in his eyes. It only infuriates her more. Scathing, hateful words burn the top of her tongue, poison to spew at the man daring to speak about her as if she were property.

But someone interrupts.

“Hey,” a bored voice says, just loudly enough to make it clear that the interruption is intentional. “Everything okay here?”

Nesta has to force her gaze away from Cassian’s face. He does the same, looking towards the woman who’s addressed them. Stark, pale hair and glowing, gold eyes; Nesta has no idea who this woman is, but she’s definitely brave as hell to come between the two of them.

Dorian waves from his place by the bar, catching Nesta’s attention from over the woman’s skin, delicate shoulders. He sends Nesta a boyish smile and shoots her a thumbs up. This must be the scary wife then.

“Everything is fine,” Cassian growls.

No one has ever looked less impressed by Cassian Sader. The woman tosses her ponytail over her shoulder, manages to look down on Cassian while being shorter than him.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she says flatly. Her gold eyes fall on Nesta then. It’s a signal for her to answer. “Well?”

Nesta likes her immediately. “We’re okay.”

“You can go now,” Cassian says, irritable.

Both women shoot him a look. Yet, Dorian’s wife doesn’t leave, crossing her arms and arching a brow towards Nesta for confirmation. Almost as if she didn’t even hear Cassian. Over her shoulder, Nesta can see Dorian watching the interaction with a rapt expression. He doesn’t look at all concerned.

“It’s fine,” Nesta assures the stranger. She appreciates the concern. “Cassian just can’t help being a moron, sometimes. But he’s harmless.”

The woman’s smile is sharp, deadly. “Very well.”

*

Cassian insists on driving her home.

The ride is a silent one. Neither Nesta nor Cassian says a word to each other as they make their way to his car. Nesta thinks she’s glad for it, though; she doesn’t believe that Cassian could have anything to say to her that she would want to hear. To listen to.

She’s furious with him. The last thing Nesta wants to do is listen to whatever idiotic, problematic-male ideas Cassian might have to say to defend himself, to argue that Nesta _belonged_ to him. What bullshit. Nesta didn’t belong to anyone.

As he drives, Cassian glances her way. Nesta pretends not to notice at first, not wanting to invite conversation, but she huffs a breath, arrogant and cruel and angry after the tenth time. It’s out of character for the Nesta that Cassian has come to know, and it startles him like she anticipated. She usually attempts to be warmer with him, pleasant, and a little compliant. Cassian keeps her around for her company, after all. He’s not paying her to be a bitch.

Based on his reaction, Cassian doesn’t seem to appreciate her response. He locks his jaw, and his grip on the leather steering wheel flexes. His car is a flashy thing, the kind of vehicle a man with far too much money buys. They live in Velaris. A shitty beater is a luxury in this city; what Cassian has is something else altogether.

“So, do you want to tell me where you live?” Cassian growls, pissy and impatient with her. Like he has any right. “Or am I just supposed to take a guess?”

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “I’ve ordered a cab to pick me up from your building.”

“Why would you waste the money?” Cassian asks incredulously. He sounds as if it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. Nesta refuses to look at him, keeping her eyes trained on the road ahead of them. It’s in the tone of his voice when Cassian figures out the answer to his question; sometimes, he’s not a complete idiot.

“You don’t want me to know where you live,” he says softly. Nesta thinks that it almost sounds like his feelings are hurt.

She refuses to feel bad about it. Cassian having the knowledge of where Nesta lives feels like an invasion of privacy for her, and it feels like a dangerous slip in the boundaries that Nesta has worked so hard to keep between her personal and professional lives. Sleeping with him was bad enough, a total misstep for Nesta. The last thing she needed was for Cassian to start showing up at her apartment whenever the urge hit him.

Cassian doesn’t say anything else about driving her home. Nesta doesn’t have anything else to say on the matter, either, so she doesn’t.

Silence falls over them again. Traffic is as brutal as ever in this city; the drive is taking far too long for Nesta’s liking. She’ll spend all night in a car at this rate. Mother, why did she decide to move to this place?

When Cassian makes an unexpected turn, Nesta shoots him a questioning look. She’s just about to ask him where he is going when Cassian pulls into an empty parking lot. The shopping center there closed hours ago. More silence stretches between them.

“Are you kicking me out here, then?” Nesta asks when he remains quiet. She supposes she’ll be difficult until her last, dying breath at this rate.

“If anyone should get kicked out of this car, it’s me.” He cracks a self-deprecating smile, looking to Nesta for approval. When she doesn’t react, her mask carefully in place, Cassian takes a deep breath, holds it in, and then releases it with a heavy sigh.

Nesta waits. She can sense there’s more.

“I’m sorry for being such a jackass,” he says softly, avoiding her gaze. Cassian laughs at something, to what Nesta doesn’t know, and then he smiles at her. “Honestly, I cannot believe that you didn’t lay me out on the bar floor for that shit.”

“I still could. If you’d like,” she says simply. Cassian grins.

His face quickly falls into serious lines. “But I’m not going to apologize for being jealous,” he says stubbornly. The bluntness surprises Nesta; she didn’t think he’d admit that about his behavior. She was sure it’d be another fight, that she’d have to drag an apology out of him.

“Is that what we’re going with?” she asks pointedly. “ _Jealousy_?”

Cassian looks at her incredulously. “Uh, yeah?”

“I don’t _belong_ to you,” Nesta hisses, reminding the man of what he said not even an hour ago. She’s suddenly very, very mad. All over again. How could Cassian act like it wasn’t that big of a deal?

“I’m not your property or possession or whatever the fuck else you think of me as,” Nesta spits at him. Cassian’s eyes bug out of his face. “The only person I belong to is _myself_.”

And it’s been that way for as long as Nesta can remember, though she keeps that thought to herself. She prefers it, honestly. It’s better this way.

“I…” Cassian trails off, searching for the words. He sighs. “I didn’t even realize you were there when I first arrived,” he says. Nesta furrows her brow, confused about the relevance. “And then I heard you. Heard you _laugh_.”

“You heard me laugh,” she says flatly.

“Then I saw you, sitting at the bar.” Cassian turns those sad hazel eyes her way. “You were… _flirting_ with this guy.” He scoffs. “Fucking Dorian Havilliard—seriously? That guy’s a tool.”

“How do you know Dorian?” Nesta asks. She never even thought to ask Dorian what his last name was, but it turned out that she didn’t need to. The news surprises her, distracts her from her goal of getting Cassian to admit he was in the wrong.

However, Cassian ignores her question, lost in his thoughts. “I’ve never seen you look so carefree. You were enjoying yourself, and he was totally into you in case you didn’t notice—It pissed me off.”

“So you decided to be a possessive prick,” Nesta tells him. She doesn’t bother denying the accusations about Dorian; they both knew what was going on there, even if Nesta had no intention of going home with Dorian and his terrifying wife.

Cassian has the nerve to laugh. He’s thoughtful as he puts the car into gear, heading back onto the street. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Nesta glares at him. “You’re supposed to apologize now.”

“Sorry,” he tells her. He doesn’t sound at all sorry.

*

The sight of Cassian’s building does provide the relief Nesta had hoped for. The car pulls into the garage, and Cassian parks the vehicle in one of his reserved spaces. Together they wait for Nesta’s cab. The silence is a comfortable one, which seems odd to Nesta.

“You know,” Cassian begins carefully like he’s afraid to shatter the peace between them. “You could always stay the night. It’s not like you won’t be back again tomorrow.”

“I’m not really in the mood, Cassian,” Nesta says stiffly. It’s only half a lie.

His head jerks in her direction. “That’s not what I meant,” Cassian corrects quickly, looking horrified. “Shit. I-I meant one of the guest rooms. I’d never make such a dick move.”

Nesta arches a brow, looking doubtful. Cassian gapes at her.

“You’re not into angry-makeup sex?” she asks before thinking better of it. Nesta regrets the flirtatious words right away.

Cassian looks intrigued if still a little wary. It takes him a moment to speak. “I can’t decide if you’re leading me into a trap right now, or if—”

Her phone chimes with the notification that her cab has arrived, and Nesta’s and Cassian’s gazes both land on the phone, waiting for it to say something else. It’s time for Nesta to leave.

It’d be a lie were she to say she wasn’t the least bit interested in making up with Cassian this evening, even if her feelings were still mixed about his behavior at the bar. A jealous Cassian was actually quite attractive, and Nesta was _very fond_ of angry-makeup sex.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nesta tells him. She has one hand on the doorknob when Cassian stops her, nothing more than a gentle, light touch on her knee. It bothers Nesta how much that little gesture thrills her. She shouldn’t give a damn about Cassian and his little affections.

It’s not relevant. This is business.

His hazel eyes drink in her face. Nesta waits for him to say whatever it is he needs to get out, but Cassian doesn’t speak right away. He just… looks at her. It’s nerve-wracking.

“Have a good night,” he says at last, and he drops his hand away from her knee. It doesn’t sound at all like that was what Cassian really wanted to say.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW content ahead. Enjoy?

  
Wednesday dinner is weird, but Friday is better.  


Nesta lets Cassian take her home. It’s not like she has anywhere to be on Saturday. Besides, Nesta misses Cassian’s hands on her body, and it’s been nearly a week since the last time she got laid. Her own fingers just aren’t as nice as his are, can’t reach quite the same place.

And she does follow the rules. _No other men._

Cassian’s body is warm against Nesta’s back as they enter the private elevator to his penthouse. He cages her in against the handrails to prevent her from turning around, and his hot hands find her hips greedily, sliding their way up and down her curves.

Nesta lets out a pleased, breathless laugh as Cassian slides her hair to one side and kisses the back of her neck. She can feel Cassian’s smile on her skin as a hand trails up her neck, making her breath hitch, before resting on her chin. Cassian turns Nesta’s face to the side, meets her lips with his. It’s a good kiss, eager and with lots of tongue. Cassian’s always known just how to get Nesta fired up. Though, she can’t find it in herself to complain.

She turns around in his arms, leaning her pelvis into his and making Cassian groan. They’ve already spent Cauldron-knows how long making out in his car; Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up having sex right there in this elevator with how things are going.

“I like this.” Cassian tugs teasingly on the zipper front of her dress. It runs from collar to hem, and, as Nesta planned, it has held his attention since the moment she arrived at dinner.

“Oh?” she says coyly. Cassian barks a laugh, grinning. His cheeks are rosy from the cold night air and from all of the kissing. Nesta thinks he looks really good like this; it fills her with a sense of pride to make his look so ruffled.

“Mmm,” he hums, kissing one side of her neck. She sighs.

“I can’t wait to take it off,” Cassian says, kissing the opposite side next.

Nesta tries very hard not to melt in his arms. Her voice turns breathy. “Then, you should probably hit the button.”

Cassian laughs, loud and carefree at her words, but he releases her long enough to do as told. Nesta’s always been surprised by Cassian’s ability to express himself so openly; he just… doesn’t seem to care. Cassian lets anyone nearby see the emotions he’s feeling, wearing his heart on his sleeve as he does. Nesta could never bear such vulnerability.

As the elevator starts to move, Cassian’s hands return to the small of her waist quickly. He slides them down to cup her ass as he kisses her. It’s a good kiss; Nesta moans into it and arches her chest into his, craving the contact. Her fingers tangle in his hair and pull out the knot Cassian likes to keep it in. She likes to play with his hair.

“I’ve missed you,” Cassian breathes before swiping his tongue into her mouth to kiss her again. “My sweet girl.”

The kiss muffles Nesta’s wanton moan caused by the grind of Cassian’s hips against hers. The elevator lurches to a stop before things can get good, and Cassian places a hand against the wall to steady them from the change in motion, muffling a laugh against her mouth.

They kiss like that until the doors threaten to close on them. Then Nesta pushes him away with a smile and leads Cassian into his apartment.

She can feel his eyes on her as she drops her belongings onto a table and heads for the living room. Cassian stalks behind her quietly, eyes likely glued to the sway of her hips. At the couch, Nesta turns to face him, and as predicted, his eyes snap up to her face. Cassian shows no embarrassment, though, smiling at her roguishly and pocketing his hands.

“Sit down,” Nesta orders, struggling to keep her voice even as her heart races in her chest. Cassian raises a brow, and she nods towards the couch, waiting for him to comply.

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles, sitting down on the couch and reaching for her body. Nesta strolls to him, standing between his legs. She sighs at the feeling when Cassian rubs his thumbs across her breasts, massaging them without taking off her clothes.

“That feels good,” Nesta coos, threading her fingers back into Cassian’s hair as his mouth joins his fingers. “Though, it’d feel even better if you got me naked.”

Another grin. Cassian unzips the dress without hesitation, pausing as the zipper reaches between her breasts. His hazel eyes light up at the sight of the red lace hidden beneath Nesta’s skin tight black dress.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he breathes reverently, dragging the zipper lower. Nesta watches as his plans to tease her are forgotten. “Did you dress up for me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Can I take it off?” Cassian asks for permission, ignoring her attitude. Still, a smile plays at his lips.

It’s as much part of the game as it is for their mutual comfort. Nesta asks for consent, too, but she’s lazier about it than Cassian. Maybe she should try to be better about that. Then again, Nesta isn’t the one with all of the power in this arrangement.

“Maybe.” Nesta plays. Cassian frowns at her.

He presses a kiss to her neck—another to her collarbone. Cassian’s lips ghost the tops of her breasts, and then he leans away. “Please?”

It’s exactly the right way to plead. Nesta nods, and Cassian’s fingers make quick work of the zipper. His eyes widen at the sight of her second outfit, a combination of lace and satin that’s been hiding away all this time. With a sly smile, Nesta shrugs out of her dress and straddles Cassian’s lap.

He reaches for the hooks at the front of the bra piece immediately, but Nesta stops him quickly. “You haven’t even enjoyed it yet.”

“Believe me,” Cassian replies, voice hoarse with arousal. He shifts his hips underneath her, and Nesta gasps at the feeling of his hardness. “I have.”

“Well, I haven’t,” Nesta argues, tossing her hair over her shoulder and making Cassian smile. They meet halfway for a dirty kiss.

Quickly, Cassian’s hands forget about undoing her clothes in favor of exploring her body. Nesta hums into his mouth as his hands fondle her breasts. She gasps when he cups her ass with both hands, squeezing once in warning before slapping it.

Things only grow more heated from there. Nesta grounds down onto him, searching for the friction she needs so badly. Cassian swears, takes her by the ass, and adjusts her so that the contact grows more intense.

Another slap on the ass. Not too hard, but not too soft either. Nesta gasps his name, “ _Cassian.”_

“That’s it, Sweetheart,” he growls, running his hands up her back, back down to her hips to guide her. “Good girl.”

“Shit.” Nesta starts to pant. She feels so dirty, grinding down on Cassian’s lap and moaning his name. Yet, Cassian is looking at her like she’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, eyes bright with interest and color rising along his neck. It motivates Nesta to keep going, helps her forget about her insecurities; besides, it feels so fucking _good._

Nesta knows from experience that Cassian’s chest will be flushed with color when she gets his shirt off. The thought motivates her, and she starts to undo the buttons of his dress shirt one by one. Cassian grunts his approval when Nesta kisses her way down his chest, as low as possible without having to climb out of his lap.

“Can I touch you, Sweetheart?” Cassian asks in a low voice that makes Nesta shiver. She nods furiously in response, and he slips his fingers past her panties without hesitation. “Fuck,” he growls. “Is all that for me, Nesta?”

She whimpers, grinding her hips down onto his hand for more. Cassian chuckles and starts to rub circles around her clit; meanwhile, he gets to work sucking a bruise to her collarbone.

“ _Oh_ ,” Nesta breathes. Her eyes fall closed, and she tucks her face into the crook of Cassian’s neck.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll take care of you.”

Nesta moans and kisses blindly at Cassian’s neck. His groan answers her efforts, but his nose brushes her cheek, asking for another kiss. Nesta meets his mouth with her own.

She’ll never say it to his face, but Cassian is an excellent kisser. He murmurs praise into her lips, adds a finger when she asks him sweetly. _Please._ Nesta keens at the sweet taught stretch of a second of Cassian’s finger join the first. Yes. They’re much better than hers.

“You like that, Nes?” Cassian asks, speeding up the pumping of his fingers. Her breath hitches, and a garbled _yes_ escapes her. “Does that make you wanna come?”

“Yeah,” she tells him. Her voice sounds foreign. “Make me come, baby.”

Cassian swears and yanks her face down to his. They kiss, teeth and tongue, and Cassian works her body, crooking his fingers just right to hit the nerves that make her dizzy. Nesta chokes on the sounds spilling from her lips until she can’t take it anymore.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Nesta encourages him, digging her fingernails into the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. She thinks she might prick the skin with how Cassian groans from the back of his throat. “Yes. Yes, yes, _yes_.”

She cries out when the tension snaps, and Cassian groans as her body clamps around his fingers, muscles spasming. Moans spill from Nesta’s throat until Cassian swallows them down with a kiss. Her hips rock against his fingers as they work her through it.

“Good girl,” Cassian mumbles, kissing her everywhere he can reach. When she quiets, he removes his fingers, and Nesta watches as Cassian sucks the taste of her from them. Another wave of desire washes over her, and Nesta crashes her lips into his.

They kiss like that until Nesta starts to wiggle in his lap. Cassian recognizes her behavior for what it is. He wears a proud grin as he asks her, “Are you ready for another, Sweetheart?”

Arousal makes Nesta shameless. She moans yes into his mouth. Cassian laughs as he lifts her from his lap and sets her on her feet; Nesta barely manages not to stumble on her shaky legs and fall on her butt.

Cassian smiles, kisses her lips chastely, and shrugs out of his unbuttoned shirt. Nesta never finished undressing him, she realizes, and with a coy smile, she resumes her earlier task, standing in front of him and plucking open the button of his dress pants. Cassian groans at her, and yet, he stops her.

Nesta frowns at that. Cassian just smiles, tells her, “Let’s go upstairs.”

The penthouse is a maze of shiny furniture and expensive art. They maneuver through the main rooms of the home and somehow manage to remain in contact the entire time. Cassian makes a game of pinning Nesta against different surfaces and having his way with her. Though he was the one to suggest going to bed, Cassian doesn’t seem concerned with getting there.

“Are you going to fuck me on these stairs?” Nesta asks, regaining her attitude at last.

Cassian grins and runs a finger down her throat. “I’m not opposed if you’re into it.” He eyes the stairs, forming a strategy in his mind. “I think we could make it work. Wanna give it a go?”

Nesta refuses to give him the satisfaction of laughing. She slips away from him and heads up the stairs; she knows Cassian will be right behind her.

In the bedroom, she crawls into his bed without a care. Nesta’s expecting Cassian to be seconds behind her, so when the bed doesn’t shift with his weight, she glances over her shoulder. She finds him watching from the door, smiling a little funny with his eyes blown wide.

“Look at you, Sweetheart,” he purrs, and Nesta shivers. He prowls across the room, undoing his pants and kicking them off as he goes. Cassian stops at the foot of the bed and drinks in the sight of her; Nesta forces herself not to flush anymore than she already is.

“You look so good in my bed, baby,” he tells her softly, petting the side of her face.

He leans down to kiss her, hands on the edge of the bed, and Nesta meets the kiss shyly. After, Cassian stands to remove his clothes, and she watches him, chewing on her lip and enjoying the view. Cassian’s cock springs free as he pulls off the last of his clothes, and he smirks as Nesta slides to the end of the bed, taking him in her hands and touching him.

“Ah, fuck,” Cassian hisses as her lips close around the head.

Nesta looks up from under her lashes to see him staring down at her with rapt attention. His teeth tug on his lip, and his eyes fall closed when Nesta starts to move. She takes him as deeply as she can into her mouth and works the rest with a hand. Her other scratches at the inside of his thighs.

Cassian grabs her by the hair as he gets more excited. Nesta knows that he’s considering whether or not to take over—to hold her still and fuck her mouth like he’s confessed to wanting. Nesta waits, pausing what she’s doing to see what Cassian’s next move is. The muscles in his abdomen flex, and he gapes at her.

“Shit, you look good with my cock in your mouth,” Cassian pants. His hips start to rock on their own; Nesta stills, relaxes her throat, and breathes through her nose.

Cassian starts slowly, and Nesta hums, turned on by the little sounds he makes as he fucks into her mouth. Aroused, she starts to play with her breasts, massaging them through the bra she still wears. Cassian doesn’t notice at first, but when he does, it excites him. He rocks his hips a little faster.

Nesta’s just about to remove her bra, fingers on the clasps between her breasts when Cassian notices. He orders, “Leave that where it is.”

It’s a struggle not to react; to moan or laugh, Nesta isn’t sure. Cassian growls as his hips resume their rocking, and Nesta focuses on not gagging on him. He’s enjoying it so much, and Nesta’s enjoying it, too. More than she thought she would.

In his eagerness, Cassian starts to thrust into Nesta’s mouth with abandon. But it’s too much, too fast, and Nesta isn’t prepared, gagging on his cock when it slams into the back of her throat. Her eyes sting with tears as Cassian pulls out of her mouth immediately, apologizing.

“S-sorry.” The words stumble out of his mouth, and Cassian loses all of that arrogant dominance he carries with him into the bedroom. His fingers brush at her tears as he stammers. “I got a little carried away.”

Nesta _laughs._ Cassian pets her hair away from her face, looking stumped. She grins at him, and it only seems to add to his confusion. Nesta guesses that he thought she’d be more upset.

“Choking on your dick is not a terrible experience,” she muses in a hoarse voice.

She thinks that Cassian’s eyes might just pop out of his head. The ego returns to the bedroom. “Wanna try again?”

“Nope,” Nesta tells him, turning and crawling up the bed. She moves her hips in a way that has proven to madden Cassian. “You’re going to fuck me now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. The bed shifts as he crawls after her. Cassian’s hands rub at her hips, and Nesta looks over her shoulder watching as he tugs her underwear to the side. Perhaps, he’s grown rather fond of the lingerie too.

His hazel eyes meet hers as he lines his cock up with Nesta’s entrance. She bites her lip to hide the hitch in her already ragged breathing, but Cassian’s smile tells her he noticed anyway.

Cassian holds her gaze as he pushes inside of Nesta’s body. He doesn’t bite back the _Oh_ that falls off his lips, matching Nesta’s little cry of pleasure. She digs her fingers into the bed to anchor herself, and yet, nothing happens.

“You feel so _good_ , baby,” he tells her, rubbing his hands up her back.

Nesta scoffs, growing impatient enough to not care about the praise. “Cassian, if you don’t start fucking me, I’ll—”

Her voice shatters as Cassian snaps his hips. Nesta moans, shifting her weight to her elbows as Cassian thrusts into her body. He grunts and groans as he fucks her just as Nesta ordered, and the sounds fuel her reactions, her pleas for _more_ and _just like that, baby. Yeah, that’s perfect._

“That good, Nes?” Cassian asks her, sounding much too proud for a man that looks just as wrecked as Nesta feels. “You like that?”

“Uh… yeah,” she tells him.

Nesta loses herself in the sensations. She gasps when he spanks her again without warning, and Cassian has the nerve to chuckle at her surprise. She stretches her arms out above her on the bed and allows her body to sink into the mattress. Cassian barely pauses to move her hips, creating a deeper arch in her back that makes them both groan lowly from the back of their throats.

She doesn’t even realize she’s pressed her face into the pillow until Cassian reaches for her hair, arching her neck and turning her face so that he can kiss her. The action stings her scalp a little, but Nesta forgets the pain and moans as Cassian’s teeth sink into her pulse point. She’ll be wearing turtlenecks for the rest of the week for sure.

“Uh, fuck, baby,” Cassian groans. His body covers hers now, and it feels too good. Nesta turns her face again, asks for another messy kiss. Cassian bites her shoulder to keep from groaning so loudly. He must be close. Nesta knows she certainly is.

She must say as much without realizing it. Cassian kisses her temple and pants, “Then come for me, Sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Nesta gasps as her body trembles. “ _Cassian, I—”_

She digs her teeth into his bicep to silence herself, and Cassian lets out a guttural sound that tells Nesta he’s reached his breaking point, too.

Nesta feels the rush of warmth that tells her that Cassian’s come inside of her. His words tell her as much, too; Cassian babbles into her ear, “Uh, fuck. That’s my sweet girl. _Good girl_. Nesta, baby—oh, shit. _Shit_.”

His hips still, and they both fall quiet, except for the sounds of their heavy breathing. Cassian doesn’t move from on top of her, pressing messy, uncoordinated kisses to wherever he can reach on Nesta’s body.

They both whimper when Cassian rolls away, falling to the other side of the bed with little grace and a groan. It takes Nesta longer to move, stretching out her stiff muscles to lay on her belly. She doesn’t have the energy to move much more than that.

“Nesta?” Cassian breaks the silence sometime later.

“Mhm?” she mumbles, tired and sated. Nesta refuses to open her eyes.

Cassian breathes a laugh. “Just checking on you.”

His arms fold around her then, and Cassian’s chest presses into her back. Nesta snuggles backward into him and sighs. This is nice and comfortable, except—

“My bra is stabbing me in the boob,” Nesta complains, voice slurred with exhaustion. “I don’t want to wear it anymore.”

Her eyes fall back closed, and Nesta’s breathing levels out. She wants to take it off, but it’s just too much work to handle right now. She’ll be asleep in moments. Cassian soon huffs a breath, likely realizing that Nesta isn’t going to move to take it off. His fingers slide to the front clasps and deftly remove the piece for her.

Nesta sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

A kiss to the spot where the bra straps dug into her shoulder. Nesta begins to slip into the realm of unconsciousness, and Cassian’s purr is the last thing she hears. “No problem, Sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Don’t flatter yourself.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Nesta wakes up beside Cassian and watches him sleep.  


It’s odd to see someone as loud and obnoxious as Cassian lie still, be so silent. Nesta nearly checks his heartbeat to make sure he’s alive, but the rise and fall of his chest tells her that Cassian still breathes. Satisfied, Nesta takes a moment to drink in the sight of Cassian’s straight nose and unfairly long, dark lashes. It’s so much easier for her to do without his arrogant smile aimed her way.

Nesta doesn’t usually stay the night, at least that was once the case, but as of late, sleepovers happen more and more. After sex, Cassian becomes snuggly and affectionate, which is saying something for him. He likes to hold Nesta close and spend time kissing her body, teasing her until he’s ready for another round. Nesta often claims that as the reason for staying, another round in the sheets, but the truth is, she doesn’t mind cuddling, not really. Not anymore.

Eventually, Nesta retreats and heads for the shower. It’s tempting to wake Cassian and ask him to join her, but Nesta is well aware of how unproductively that decision would go. She’s braiding her hair back when, at last, Cassian blinks his eyes open and grins her way.

When he says nothing, Nesta raises an eyebrow in a challenge; it only serves to make Cassian smile grow. She huffs and looks away from him; Mother, she prays he missed her staring before. That would be embarrassing, and Cassian would never let her live it down. The egotistical bastard.

“What are you smiling about?” Nesta snaps when she can no longer bear the twinkle in his eyes.

Cassian bites his lip before answering, eyes dark with consideration. Nesta takes it as a warning for what’s to come. “That’s my sweater.”

“How astute,” Nesta huffs as she ties off the end of her braid.

“You went into my closet,” Cassian accuses. His voice is without anger, though, it still makes her nervous. Nesta worries that maybe she’s crossed some unknown line. She did go into his wardrobe without asking first.

His eyes remain on her face. Cassian repeats, “You stole my shirt from my closet.”

“Well, it’s not like you were wearing it,” Nesta tells him, pretending indifference. She waits for him to respond until she can no longer bear it. She asks, “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” An incredulous laugh. Nesta’s heart grows worried, but Cassian’s laughter stops abruptly when he notices the fear in her eyes. She turns her face away from his, pulling her guard up around her like a safety blanket. Nesta hates how easily the man can see through her—like no one else.

“Nes,” he breathes, looking concerned when she finally meets his eye. “It’s _so_ okay.” Another laugh, this one strangled. “Other than the fact that I’m a weird fuck with a sweater kink.”

Nesta laughs at that. “Well, I could have told you that—the weird fuck thing. The sweater stuff is new, though.”

“You like it,” Cassian says quickly, grinning without shame. His eyes trace her face and her neck, fingers hooking on the collar of the turtleneck Nesta has stolen. Cassian pulls it down to examine the damage, marking the bruises on her throat from his teeth.

“Admiring your handiwork?” she teases.

His hazel eyes apologize for him. “I went a little overboard, I think.” Cassian presses his lips to one of the marks on her throat. “Sorry.”

“You were in a mood last night,” Nesta tells him by way of accepting the apology. She turns to face him, sliding into his lap, and straddling him; Cassian rests his hands comfortably on her the slope of her waist.

She reflects on the night before. “When I come over, I’ll have to start wearing lingerie under all of my ugliest grandma sweaters.”

“Fuck off!” Cassian’s head knocks against the headboard as he laughs. His happiness is infectious, and Nesta smiles as she reaches for his face, kissing the top of his head to chase away the sting.

As soon as she’s done it, Nesta recognizes the mistake.

The intimate gesture turns Cassian’s eyes soft and affectionate. He brushes the short strands of hair back from Nesta’s temples and pulls her face down to his. Nesta wants to resist the sweet kiss he gives her. It makes her throat clog up, and her heart race comfortably, but she knows how that would hurt him.

Instead, Nesta nips Cassian’s lips to turn the kiss into something else, something needy and more in her comfort zone. He groans into her mouth and gives her ass a hard squeeze of approval; Cassian pulls her forward, grinding their bodies together and making Nesta gasp.

“Fuck,” she swears as Cassian’s hand disappears between their bodies. His tongue slips into her mouth and the two move in tandem. Nesta moans; the sound is high-pitched and wanton. It makes the man beneath her smirk.

He slips a finger inside of her and presses his thumb to her clit. Nesta’s eyes fall closed as Cassian breathes her in, mumbling against her skin, “Does that feel good, Nesta?”

“Mmm,” she manages in response.

Cassian nips at her jawline, forgetting about his regrets quickly. Nesta tugs at his wild and tangled hair. They stay that way, their limbs tangled together as they make out. Cassian’s hand remains at her core.

“You take my fingers so well, Sweetheart,” he tells her as he adds another. “Such a sweet thing.”

Nesta removes her lips from his neck to cry out at the feeling. It’s clear that Cassian is up for another lengthy turn in the sheets, full of games, but Nesta decides to change that. She’s not in the mood for teasing, even if he is.

“Cassian,” Nesta sighs as she breaks their kiss. She has to fight off a smile as he chases her lips for another. “Give me your cock.”

“Fuck,” he exclaims, his expression wild.

Nesta shifts in his lap, reaching for him. Swear words tumble from Cassian’s lips as she strokes him a few times, getting him ready for her, too. But Nesta is impatient. She lines Cassian up with her entrance and sits onto him, savoring the stretch. She moans.

This time Cassian’s head collides with the headboard as he groans. Nesta watches him, getting off on the visceral reaction he always has about being inside of her. It’s a pretty great feeling, she thinks, watching as Cassian’s eyes roll backward in bliss as she sinks onto him.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” Cassian tells her. “ _Fuck_ , it feels so good.”

“Uh,” Nesta pants as she moves above him, wasting little time. “Fuck me, baby.”

Cassian groans at her words, though he’s quick to oblige her. The sex is exactly the change Nesta wanted, needed; it’s dirty and straightforward. There’s no emotion or games. They’re fucking—that’s it.

“As much as I like the sweater,” Cassian says as he pulls it over Nesta’s head, “it’s blocking my favorite view.”

Nesta lets out a breath of a laugh. His hands are on her breasts in an instant, squeezing them and pinching her nipples. Nesta lets her eyes fall closed as she hums with pleasure; she continues to rock her hips, grinding down onto Cassian’s cock, chasing her high.

“Shit!” she gasps as his lips close around a nipple. Nesta loses her rhythm, and Cassian chuckles into her chest, pleased with the reaction. He loves to see how badly he can wreck her during sex.

Two can play that game.

Nesta yanks his hands away from her body, savoring the scowl her actions earn. Cassian resists at first until Nesta throws his arms to the side and barks an order, “No touching.”

“But—” Cassian’s protests turn into swears as Nesta begins to ride him again. She rests one hand against the headboard and the other on his shoulder as she bounces on his cock. “ _Fuck!_ Nesta, feeling a little bossy this morning?”

“You _._ Like. It.” Nesta sighs, feeling the tension build in her body. “ _Oh._ ”

Cassian looks a little lost for a moment, hands hovering around her body. Nesta is prepared to slap them away, but Cassian must sense her determination because he buries them into the comforter instead.

“Fuck, baby,” he says reverently, watching her move. “You look so good riding my cock like that.”

He leans in for a kiss, but Nesta stops him, not wanting to lose the perfect angle she’s found or the dominance she’s managed to acquire. She shoves him back to the pillows by the hand on his shoulder, sliding it up to his throat. Nesta rests her fingers there, and Cassian’s eyes go impossibly darker in response.

“Uh, yeah,” Nesta breathes. The headboard rocks with their efforts, Cassian thrusting upward to meet each pass of Nesta’s hips. “Oh, fuck.”

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, knowing how his voice works her up. Cassian knows exactly how to get Nesta there, even when he’s not allowed to touch her. “You ride that cock, Sweetheart.”

“Ah,” she moans. Her toes curl, and her cunt clenches around him. “Oh, Cassian. Uh, shit. You feel so good.”

“Fuck!” he swears, lips swollen red from kissing her and biting down on them. “You’re so fucking tight, Nesta. Gonna make me come—”

Cassian’s control breaks. Nesta can feel it as he throbs inside of her, and the knowledge that she was able to bring him to the edge like that is enough to send her soaring, too. She cries out, moaning Cassian’s name until he meets her lips with his to swallow the sounds pouring out of her.

They stay like that, kissing with Nesta perched in his lap. Cassian tastes the whimpers that escape her as she floats down from her high. He peppers kisses along the freckles dotting her face, the one on her neck, and the others on her shoulder. 

Eventually, Nesta sighs and slips from his lap; Cassian groans at the loss of contact. When Nesta starts to leave the bed, his fingers wrap around her waist to pull her back and keep her close. She huffs a laugh at Cassian’s insistence; Nesta was nearly free.

“Where are you going?” Cassian mumbles into her neck.

Nesta rolls her eyes at his actions, even if Cassian can’t see it. She attempts to wiggle free of his grasp, fails, and sighs. “Home. And then for a haircut.”

Her jailor makes a noise of outrage. “Cut your hair? You can’t cut your hair.”

“I can,” Nesta tells him seriously, “and I will.”

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Cassian whines. She hates how it makes her smile. To make his point, he wraps Nesta’s braid around his fingers, and Cassian kisses the nape of her neck. “I love your hair.”

Despite her best efforts, Nesta melts into his attention. Cassian’s mouth is hot on her neck as it trails down to her shoulder. She decides to lean into it, turning in his embrace to kiss him deeply, and Cassian chuckles into her mouth, pleased to sway her over. He releases his grip on her waist to cup her face while they kiss, and Nesta smiles at the little gesture, nipping his lip to make Cassian groan.

Suddenly, Nesta stands up without warning, free of Cassian’s ironclad grip on her waist. Cassian makes a noise of protest and reaches for her, but Nesta manages to slip through his fingertips like water.

“The next time you see me—” Nesta says with a smile; she shoves Cassian backward toward the bed when he stands up after her. He lands with a satisfying _oof_. “—I’ll be bald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What are you smiling about?


	7. Chapter 7

Cassian’s expression is wary when he answers the door.

“You still have hair,” he says by way of greeting. Nesta can’t help but scoff at the pleased look on his face. She should’ve known that her parting words would stick in his head, haunt him until their next meeting.

Still, there’s something about Cassian stressing himself over Nesta’s potential baldness that makes her want to smile, and she would, too, if she didn’t feel like such shit. The medicine Nesta took before leaving home had yet to take effect and soothe her sore throat.

Cassian remains in front of the entrance, blocking the doorway with his hulking frame; he takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of Nesta’s body in the sheath dress she picked out for dinner. Nesta scowls at his impertinence.

“Yep.” Nesta feels overwhelmed by the need to take a seat. The weakness in her bones makes her extra impatient; Nesta considers shouldering her way into the apartment before she can pass out.

Nesta’s short reply causes Cassian’s eyebrows to rise. She sighs at his infinite patience; sometimes, Nesta wishes they didn’t waste so much time picking at each other and trying to piss one another off. She’s too exhausted to fight with Cassian this evening, and Nesta really needs to sit down.

She’d spent the majority of the day dozing in bed, wasting away the hours before she needed to start getting ready to see Cassian. Nesta rejoiced when the man suggested they eat at his apartment; going out for dinner seemed like too arduous a task for Nesta right now.

“There’s always next time,” she says to fill the silence. Nesta contemplates how long she can manage without needing to sneak away to blow her stuffy nose; she prays silently she’s done a good enough job with her makeup to hide the sickly feelings from her complexion.

Nesta must have failed. Cassian and his eagle-eyed vision sees right through Nesta’s mask, always annoyingly perceptive of Nesta and her feelings. She sees the moment when Cassian’s hazel eyes note her red eyes and can tell when he notices Nesta isn’t breathing well.

“You’re sick,” Cassian says in a plain voice.

“I’m fine,” Nesta snaps. They both notice the off-kilter sound of her voice, too nasally to support her claims of being well. Cassian gapes at her, surprised by the sudden hostility. It makes her feel uncomfortable.

“You didn’t have to come over.” Cassian leans against the doorframe. Nesta can’t believe they’re having this conversation here at the entrance to the apartment.

Nesta holds her head high. “Would you like me to leave?”

“If you weren’t feeling well, why didn’t you stay at home?” Cassian asks instead of answering Nesta’s question. His strong brow furrows. “You should be in bed, Nesta. You look terrible.”

Nesta attempts to growl at him, she really does, but the little noise only triggers her coughing. She covers her face with her elbow, embarrassed beyond reason. When the cough passes, Nesta lowers her arm to find Cassian staring at her in open alarm.

“I’ll go.” Her breath wheezes out of her, and Nesta spins precariously on her stilettos, heading back for the elevator.

“Wait!” Cassian catches her hand as it reaches for the call button to the elevator. Nesta is as stubborn as ever, and she tries to yank her arm away, but Cassian tightens his grip ever so slightly in response.

“Nes! _Wait_.” Their struggle makes Nesta cough again, and Cassian sighs at her, looking particularly exasperated. “ _Dammit, woman!_ Why are you so fucking stubborn all of the time?”

“Excuse me?” Nesta hisses at him, feeling inexplicably defensive. She feels like such an idiot for coming over this evening. There’s no rule against Nesta taking a sick day; she should’ve canceled her dinner with Cassian, made her excuses without revealing that she was unwell.

Gods, Cassian will want to take care of her now. Nesta finds the concept unbearable, knows that it will be a massive blow to that pride of hers.

“Will you just come sit down?” Cassian looks inclined to lose his temper, as well, or to give in and carry her inside by force. The muscles in his jaw flutter as he waits for Nesta to respond.

Nesta glares at him, and he continues to grind his teeth.

Cassian is the first to give in. “Please?” The fire returns to his eyes. “Or are you too fucking hardheaded to let me make you dinner?”

He steps to the side and gestures emphatically to encourage Nesta to enter the apartment at last. The woman crosses her arms, as challenging as ever; Cassian sighs at her before turning his back on her. He leaves her standing in the open doorway and walks towards the kitchen.

Nesta scowls at his retreating back, not that it does any good with him not looking at her. She thinks over her options: to go home or give in. Both seem impossible feats. Still, the thought of waiting at the curb for a taxi seems even more unbearable, and Nesta knows very well she’d never make it back to her bed on foot. Not so soon after arriving.

She relents, trailing after Cassian. He stands at the pantry, staring at the shelves of food as if they were a puzzle Cassian needed to sort out. He glances over his shoulder at Nesta when she claims a seat at the island.

“I see you finally made up your mind.” Nesta’s lack of fight appears to cause Cassian to worry more than anything else. She’s resting her heated cheek against the cold marble right as Cassian turns to get a better look at her.

“Steak was on the menu,” he tells her in a guilty voice, “but I don’t suppose that sounds very good, does it?”

Nesta mumbles something in response; it’s not coherent to her ears, much less Cassian’s. Her eyes are closed as she rests against the cold marble countertop; she can’t see Cassian’s expression like this.

His voice is gentle when he asks, “How does soup sound?”

“Mmm.” Nesta could fall asleep like this, laying on the kitchen island and listening to Cassian chuckle at her expense.

“Sweetheart.” Cassian’s hand lands on her shoulder, the touch gentle and warm. “Go make yourself comfortable on the couch, okay? I’ll come to check on you in a few.”

In reply, another cough wracks Nesta’s body. Cassian rubs soothing circles between her shoulders, waiting for it to pass. They both wait for Nesta to catch her breath after, and then she nods weakly, heading for the couch without complaint.

“Soup it is,” Cassian declares as she leaves.

*

Nesta doesn’t realize that she’s fallen asleep until she’s waking up. She finds herself tucked under a blanket she didn’t have before and curled into the corner of the couch in her favorite nest of pillows. She wonders how she got there, and then she remembers being exiled to the living room while Cassian prepared dinner. Soup.

Cassian chuckles at something on the television, and Nesta drags her gaze toward him, blinking away the sleepy confusion. He’s perched on the other end of the couch and looking far too comfortable in his own home. Gone are the dress pants and tightly stretched button-up; he’s ditched his work clothes for a pair of sweats and soft, worn cotton shirt.

He notices her, shooting her a smile. “Hey there.”

Nesta opens her mouth to respond, but a couch comes out instead, startling her and making her feel miserable. Cassian’s face softens, and he quickly shuffles across the couch to where she sits.

“Not feeling any better then?” Cassian brushes some hair from her forehead. “Can I get you anything to help you?”

“I thought you said there’d be soup.” Her voice is raspy and dry. He laughs.

“I did bring you a bowl,” Cassian defends, “but you were fast asleep.” He smiles softly at her. “You still had your shoes on.”

Nesta notes that her feet are bare now. It makes her feel self-conscious, knowing that Cassian found her passed out on his couch, that he removed her shoes for her while she was sleeping. It’s embarrassing to be so sick.

“You have cute toes.” He aims a wicked smile at her. Cassian knows just how much a comment like that will piss Nesta off; he looks delighted when she glares at him, subtly hiding her feet back under the blanket. “I never noticed them before.”

Nesta tries to huff at him; it comes out a ragged, sorry thing. Cassian simply pats her thigh and stands. “I’ll go heat up some soup for Your Majesty.”

She watches him leave, frowning sternly at his back. When she’s no longer able to track him from her seat, Nesta snuggles back into the couch, but she hisses as the underwire of her bra stabs into the side of her body, reminding Nesta of its existence.

Nesta groans, not wanting to get up. The thought of changing persuades her, though, and Nesta heads for Cassian’s room, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders to give her comfort.

She’s thankful, and not for the first time, for the overnight bag that Nesta keeps tucked away in Cassian’s closet. Her outfit for the evening, a tight-fitting sheathe, and one of her favorites, has never felt more uncomfortable rubbing against her skin.

Nesta digs out a pair of leggings and one of her sweaters. In the privacy of her mind, she’s not afraid to think that one of Cassian’s oversized sweaters would be more comfortable than her own, but Nesta is much too proud to ask to borrow one, not when she has clean clothes of her own. She could steal another of his shirts again, but that feels different. It’s not the same as raiding Cassian’s closet after sex. She decides against it.

Cassian is waiting for her downstairs when Nesta returns. He smiles at the sight of her leggings and the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“You look comfy,” he says. Cassian joins her at the couch with the promised bowl of soup, laughing when Nesta glares at him. His hazel eyes are warm with the kind of fondness that always makes Nesta feel uncomfortable. “It’s not an insult, Nes.”

She searches for something to put distance between them, but Nesta is too tired to find the right seething insult. Instead, she comments on his infatuation with her sweaters. “Because you’re a weirdo.”

“I’ve never claimed otherwise.” Cassian laughs. “You want this soup or not?”

Nesta’s stomach grumbles in response, and Cassian smiles, pleased to find her without something smart to say. They both know how Nesta appreciates his cooking. Still, she frowns to communicate her displeasure with him.

They stare at each other; Cassian takes his time drinking in the sight of a ruffled, sick Nesta.

“Well?” Nesta’s words are impatient. “Are you going to eat it yourself, or do you plan on feeding me by hand?”

“I like your thinking, Nesta Archeron,” Cassian replies. He holds out a spoonful of soup towards her, and Nesta eyes the food wantonly. She’s more than ready to indulge in the warm broth, but the idea of being spoon-fed turns Nesta’s stomach. She’d rather starve.

Cassian must see the look on her face; he laughs and passes Nesta the bowl without further teasing. As she accepts it, he presses the back of his hand to her forehead and frowns. “Shit, Nesta. You’re on fire.”

She waves his hand away from her face, impatiently. “The medicine shouldn’t wear off so soon.” Nesta considers her nap. “How long was I out for?”

“A couple of hours.” Cassian laughs at Nesta’s surprise. “What? I know better than to wake you up, Nesta Archeron. You’re sick; you need sleep.”

Nesta scoffs into her bowl. It’s weird having Cassian fuss about her; she doesn’t know how to accept it or respond to his mothering. Scoffing seems like the best reaction, but it’s just as likely to make her start coughing again. Instead, she frowns into her soup and tries not to choke on it.

As soon as Nesta finishes, Cassian claims the bowl from her hands. He orders her to make herself comfortable as he returns the bowl to the kitchen. Nesta doesn’t need to be told twice, and she snuggles happily into the couch. Soon enough, her eyes fall closed.

*

“Hey, Nes.” Cassian’s voice stirs her from another nap. “Take some of this.”

“What is it?” Nesta asks groggily.

“Some medicine to bring down your fever.” Cassian passes her the little cup of liquid cough syrup. The smell of menthol makes Nesta grimace, and the man in front of her chuckles, watching as she takes a deep breath and downs the medicine. Cassian is waiting with a glass of water for her to chase the poor taste away. “I know it’s pretty rough, but it’ll help you sleep without wheezing.”

“I don’t wheeze,” Nesta snaps a little too quickly.

Cassian takes her attitude in stride. “Of course not.” He smiles slyly. “You just sound like you’re drowning—in your sleep.”

“What time is it?” Nesta asks when it occurs to her that she doesn’t know what time it is, how long she’s been napping on Cassian’s couch. She catches sight of the time on the television before Cassian can answer. It’s pretty late. Nesta sighs. “I guess it’s time for me to head home. I’m sorry I wasn’t much company this evening.”

“Home?” Cassian says incredulously. He looks horrified by the idea of her leaving, which Nesta finds just silly. She spent the whole evening sleeping on his couch; it’s not like she’s very much fun right now.

“Yeah,” Nesta says, standing to leave. “The place where I live?”

“The meds I just gave you are going to put you to sleep.” Cassian stands up with her, reaching for her shoulders. “You’ll pass out in the cab.”

Nesta glares at him. “You drugged me?”

“Kind of?” Cassian furrows his brow. “Don’t make me sound like a creep, Nes. You’re _dying_.”

“I’m fine!” she snaps.

“No, you’re going to stay the night,” he orders. Nesta juts out her chin in defiance, and Cassian groans at her stubbornness. She’ll give him a hard time from her deathbed.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” Cassian pleads with her. “You can be as annoyed with me and as mean as you want. And then you can head home in the morning, okay?”

Nesta wants to fight him on the matter. She really, truly, does, but the thought of Cassian tending to her while sick is unbearable. Nesta holds his pleading stare, hoping that he might back down, but if there’s one thing Nesta knows about Cassian, it’s that his stubbornness almost matches hers.

“Fine,” she sighs.

Cassian smiles at her. He throws his arms around her shoulders and pulls her close to his side. Nesta sinks into warmth, hating herself for it. When Cassian begins to lead her towards the stairs, Nesta does not fight him.

“Let’s get you into bed,” he tells her.

It makes her smile to hear the sternness in his voice. Nesta says, “I didn’t know that you were such a mother hen, Cassian.”

“It’s one of my finer qualities,” he replies.

Nesta laughs at that, unable to stop herself. Cassian’s face lights up with delight at the sight, and he squeezes her shoulders happily, even as the laughter triggers yet another coughing fit.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "You didn’t have to come over if you’re not feeling well.“ & Nesta being ill but refusing to take time off work and still going to see Cassian.


End file.
